The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings.
In the memory of the dead all chronological differences are effaced.
When the mind once allows a doubt to gain entrance, the value of deeds performed grow less, their character changes, we forget the past and dread the future.
Powder is but a thing of yesterday, and war is as old as the human race--unhappily.
Nature's creative power is far beyond man's instinct of destruction.
I am very bad at expressing tender sentiments. The very word 'love' frightens me.